Beachside
by Shunyata Ryuen
Summary: Seven seishi, one miko, and a beachside condo...you do the math. (And, lo! After over a YEAR, a new chapter! ^_^;;)
1. Default Chapter

DISCLAIMER: Nothing owned, nothing gained...please don't sue me, low tolerance to pain...  
  
---  
  
"Beachside"  
by Ryuen  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
THE SETTING: Our world, circa 2001, somewhere in the continental United States.  
  
THE PREMISE: Seven seishi and one miko, sharing a beachside condo...why, you ask? Because, it's just more fun that way. :P   
  
THE UNFLAMABLES: (1) Despite the fact that this takes place in the real world, all seishi will be known by their seishi names, rather than their birth names. (2) All seishi remain in the bodies they possessed during the series, which means no funky reincarnation body-switches. *firm nod* (3) The ages seem slightly off because they ARE--Miaka is eighteen, Tamahome and Tasuki are twenty, Nuriko and Hotohori are twenty-one...the rest of the math, I'm sure you can do yourself. :) (4) Despite some of my other fics, this one will most likely contain no shounen ai--so, those who find themselves afeared of such things...worry not. Ye are safe for now. :) (5) Even though the setting clearly marks this as the "continental United States," there will be the occasional smattering of Japanese here and there in the dialogue. Why? 'Cuz it makes me feel special and multi-lingual...and, it tends to fit the characters better than english, anyway. ^_^.   
  
Read and review! Authors need the occasional head pat, too. *sniffle*  
  
---  
  
  
-PART I-  
  
[SOUNDTRACK FOR PART I: "Otome no Ranman," Sakamoto Chika]  
  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
He awoke slowly, in careful, practiced stages.  
  
First, his dark eyelashes fluttered, just slightly, granting him a brief, stingingly-bright view of the light-filled room. Then, his toes tensed, relaxed, tensed again. He would lie there for a long moment then, breathing deeply and trying to decide whether or not it was worth getting up yet...and then, inevitably, there would come some shuffle of movement from somewhere else in the house, and that would cinch the decision--he would turn his attentions back to waking, again, determined not to be the last one up and moving...no matter how early it might be.  
  
The toes tensed again, relaxed. Next came the fingers, then another light, testing flutter of the eyelashes...then, those slim legs swung towards the edge of the bed, dragging the rest of the taut, muscled body with them...and finally, finally...Hotohori let his eyes come fully open, pressed his bare feet against the cool wooden tile of the floor...and, came fully awake.  
  
He yawned, stretching his arms high over his head, and rose to his feet. The light, satin fabric of his robe hung lightly from his broad shoulders, leaving a generous expanse of tanned, muscled flesh exposed...of course, it would be easy enough to reach down, cinch the robe at the waist, but... A rare smirk touched the handsome young man's lips. But, that wouldn't be nearly as much fun, would it?  
  
As he strode sleepily to the door, scratching absently at his shoulder as he moved, he took a brief moment to survey the new coat of paint Nuriko had so enthusiastically offered to apply to the walls a few days ago...he frowned slightly. Of course, the new color was a bit...bright for his tastes...but, it seemed to fit the room...albeit a bit oddly. The rich violet shade somehow perfectly offset the gentle mahogany of the desk, the simple white and red of the bedspread, the artful collection of porcelain figurines littering the many wooden shelves.   
  
But, still...it WAS a little bright. He'd have to have a talk with Nuriko about it over breakfast--if he was awake, of course. Usually, the violet-haired man was out of bed even earlier than Chichiri, bustling from one end of the kitchen to the other with a greasy spatula and a cheerful smile for everyone...but, lately, he'd been stumbling out of his room around ten thirty, mumbling something about bad dreams before grabbing a piece of bread from the drawer and staggering into the living room to munch on it. Hotohori would often find him there hours later, the bread lying half eaten in his slim fingers, Nuriko himself fast asleep in whatever couch or chair he'd managed to collapse into before drifting off.  
  
It was a little disconcerting...particularly since this new schedule seemed to force the slightly-older man to stay up half the night to compensate...and, much as he hated to admit it, Hotohori found himself missing Nuriko's company in the long stretches of the morning and afternoon. The others all had work or--in Chiriko's case--school, and thus the two of them were typically alone for most of the day. It had always been pleasant, before--they would go about their own respective activities, Nuriko typically lying sprawled out on the couch, making fun of the soap operas while Hotohori sat on the other side of the room in front of his computer, buying and selling online as the mood struck him. But, always, there was a sense of togetherness in their days...and, more than once, Hotohori would catch himself staring at the TV along with Nuriko, snickering at the violet-haired man's clever, sarcastic comments. It was distracting, of course...but, he didn't mind it.   
  
Besides. It wasn't as if he was in danger of losing his money if he spent a few moments of every hour letting his mind wander...his father's fortune...his own string of luck these past few years, choosing just the right stocks... Financially, things couldn't have been better. He sighed again, thinking of the dark circles beneath Nuriko's eyes, that dull, weary note to his voice lately...something was obviously wrong. And, he had a feeling that if it didn't fix itself soon...Nuriko was going to fall apart at the seams.  
  
With a start, Hotohori realized he was still standing in his room, fingers resting lightly against the doorknob. Shaking his head slightly and putting the thoughts of the other man out of his mind, he twisted the knob, took a long step out into the hallway...and started as a wide, smiling face appeared just in front of his own.  
  
He gasped for a moment, taking a short step back. "Chi-Chichiri," he managed.  
  
Chichiri smiled. "Na no da," he said by way of greeting. The blue-haired man studied him for a moment, then nodded approvingly. "Ohayoo, Hotohori-sama...you're up early no da."  
  
Hotohori frowned slightly. "Chichiri...I've told you, you can drop the 'sama.'"  
  
"Gomen, Hotohori. Old habits die hard no da."  
  
There came a sudden scuffling from down the hall, and Hotohori glanced to the side just in time to see a blur of color and movement flood by, sending a warm wash of wind sweeping into his face. He turned, gazed after the blur in confusion...and, watched as it coalesced into two familiar forms...both of which were snarling and lashing out quite violently...  
  
"Mattaku!" Nuriko exclaimed, swiping a hand at the fiery-haired bandit but missing. "Tasuki," he growled, looking both weary and irritated. "I was here FIRST."  
  
Tasuki shook his head vehemently, making another desperate lunge for the bathroom door but missing as Nuriko leaped forward, pushed him out of the way. "No @#$*$# way!" the fanged red-head shouted. "Last time you were in there for two @#$*$(*@#$ hours! I gotta get to work!"  
  
"And, I gotta get to--" He broke off, flushed an angry shade of red. "I have to get somewhere, too," the violet-haired writer finished belatedly. "So, if ya don't mind, Tasuki..."  
  
"NO WAAAAY!" the bandit cried. He jumped forward, slamming into Nuriko--who had been inching his way towards the bathroom door as he spoke--and sent both of them crashing to the floor.  
  
Chichiri pressed a finger to his chin, shook his head almost sadly. "Na no da," he lamented.  
  
Something squeaked farther down the hall, made the four turn...a moment later, Miaka poked her head out her bedroom door, gazed sleepily down the hallway. Her thick brown hair was messy and disheveled, hanging in tangled ribbons about her face. She blinked a few times, seemed to bring the world into sharper focus. "Whassgoinon?" she managed, rubbing at her eyes and stepping out into the hallway.  
  
At the sight of the furry bunny pajamas, Hotohori smiled...but, Nuriko and Tasuki barely seemed to notice the girl's presence at all.   
  
"Damn it, Nuriko...!"  
  
"I won't be that LONG..."  
  
"You ALWAYS take a long time--"  
  
Hotohori, quickly tiring of the bickering, took a long step forward, reached down a hand and grabbed onto the two. "QUIET!" he bellowed.  
  
And, much to his surprise...the two were immediately silent.  
  
He raised his eyebrows slightly, impressed with his own abilities at issuing commands...then, remembered just where he was and what was going on, returned his attention to Nuriko and Tasuki. "That's better," he said sternly, releasing his hold on his two friends. He took a slight step back, eyed the two for a moment. They were still scowling at each other, looking ready to dive at each other's throats again...Hotohori shifted a bit uneasily, realized he'd better figure something out very quickly or there was likely to be some sort of bloodshed...  
  
Luckily, Chichiri came to his rescue.  
  
"Tasuki," the young professor said slowly. "Isn't there a bathroom at the garage na no da?"  
  
Tasuki frowned at the older man for a long moment, raised a suspicious eyebrow. "Yeah...but, it's pretty dirty."  
  
Chichiri pondered for a second. "Come with me, then. There's a bathroom at my office no da...I'll drop you off at the garage after you're done."  
  
Nuriko and Tasuki exchanged glances...then, reluctantly, the bandit nodded, trudged back up the hallway towards his room. "All right, all right..." He turned, just before his door, and cast Nuriko a murderous glare. "But, you damn well better remember this, Nuriko...I ain't gonna do this every damn day..."  
  
The violet-haired man said nothing, merely turned and trudged sulkily into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. A few moments later, there came the rush of water flowing from the shower, joined seconds later by the familiar sound of the twenty-one-year-old's soft, low humming.  
  
Hotohori tore his gaze away from the bathroom door, glanced back at the hallway...and, found it nearly empty. Miaka had retreated back into her room, no doubt to claim as much sleep as possible before she was forced to wake up for her first class, and Tasuki--if the violent thuds echoing from down the hallway were any indication--was still in his room, as well.   
  
Chichiri sighed softly, rubbing lightly at his chin and leaning his back against the other side of the hallway. His usually-smiling face dropped slightly...and, he assumed the more serious posture they saw so rarely, his voice dropping to match the mood. "Something is seriously wrong with Nuriko no da," he said quietly after a moment. "I would talk with him..." He shook his head, glancing down at his watch. "But, I have a class in ten minutes no da. Hotohori-sama..."  
  
Hotohori closed his eyes briefly, nodded. "I'll talk to him," he promised.   
  
Tasuki's door slammed open, crashed into the wall. "I'm ready," he announced, slinging a half-open duffel bag over his shoulder. He was still clad in the plain white T-shirt and speckled boxer shorts he'd worn to bed...but, he'd slipped a pair of old sneakers onto his feet, and despite the bleariness of his eyes, he looked more awake. "C'mon, c'mon," he urged impatiently.  
  
When Hotohori returned his gaze to Chichiri to see the young professor's reaction...he found that the cheerful smile was back in place, as was the usual high, light tone to his voice. It felt...strange, being a firsthand witness to that sudden change. It was almost like Chichiri were actually two different people...as if he'd somehow managed to separate the negative side of himself from the positive. Hotohori found himself wondering just what the reason might be for such a mask...but, decided against asking about it now. After all, Chichiri was on his way out the door...and, Nuriko needed his help more.  
  
"Hai, hai no da," the blue-haired man soothed, stepping out into the adjoining living room and gathering up his papers. "If you're that impatient no da, you could go wait out in the car..."  
  
Tasuki seemed to consider for a moment...then, shrugged, slung the bag once more over his shoulder, and tramped out the front door. It slammed shut behind him a moment later, and the fiery-haired mechanic's high-pitched whistling could be heard tracing its way down the hallway...finally, it vanished, and Chichiri let out an audible sigh of relief.  
  
Stretching forward, he snapped his briefcase closed, took a moment to button the last few buttons of his freshly-washed white dress shirt, then turned and hurried towards the door. "Good luck na no da," he offered as he tugged on the doorknob.  
  
Hotohori swallowed hard, wondering just what it was he'd gotten himself into... "A-Arrigato," he managed at last.  
  
Chichiri offered one last, cheerful smile...and, then the door swung silently closed...and, he was gone.  
  
Grimacing slightly, Hotohori turned back towards the bathroom door, drew in a long, deep breath, and waited.  
  
---  
  
*AUTHOR'S NOTES: (1) I apologize for the length of this first chapter...it's another of those really-fun-to-write fics. :) So, gomen ne...but, please, if you've gotten this far, be kind and leave a review...it's the only way to make me dance...and, I KNOW you wanna see me dance... *sniffle*  
  
(2) The seishi's occupations for this fic, in case you were wondering, are as follows:  
  
Hotohori - Independently-wealthy/daytrader  
Nuriko - Writer/novelist   
Miaka - College student  
Tamahome - College student  
Chichiri - College professor [history and mythology]  
Mitsukake - Pediatrician  
Chiriko - High school student  
Tasuki - Mechanic  
  
(3) Onegai! I despise this title! HELP! :) Any alternate suggestions will be GREATLY appreciated. ^_^. 


	2. Beachside - 2

"Beachside" - continued from Part I  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
The car ride was fairly silent...which, needless to say, was a bit disconcerting...particularly considering the company.   
  
Chichiri cast his fiery-haired companion a brief, speculative glance, found Tasuki gazing blankly out the window, humming absently along with the radio. Wondering what kind of trauma could POSSIBLY make Tasuki want to hum along with N'Sync, Chichiri at last elected to assist--he stretched forward, flipped the dial, and sat back contentedly.   
  
Yes. Bohemian Rhapsody was definitely MUCH better...  
  
Again, he cast a glance at his companion...and felt his frown deepen. Tasuki didn't even seem to have noticed the change. He still sat there, the violent morning wind sweeping wildly at his fiery hair, fingers lying limply in his lap, eyes staring blankly out at the passing scenery. And, still, he hummed--he'd switched tunes almost subconsciously, it seemed...   
  
At last, Chichiri let out a soft sigh, pulled over to the side of the road and brought the car to a slow, practiced halt.   
  
Jarred from his thoughts, Tasuki suddenly straightened in his seat, turned to frown at him. "Why we stoppin', Chichiri?" The young mechanic glanced warily down at his wristwatch, chewed for a moment on his lower lip. "We're both gonna be @(#*$&@$ late if we don't--"  
  
"Don't worry about it no da," Chichiri interjected, unfastening his seatbelt and shifting to a more comfortable position in the seat. He reached forward, switched off the car with a soft click...and waited, in the silence, for the other man to say something. After a long, stretched out pause and a few heavy scowls from Tasuki, the twenty-year-old at last sighed, rested his arm against the edge of the window and spoke.  
  
"Okay, okay," he conceded, casting the blue-haired professor a brief scowl. "You're wonderin' what's goin' on, huh?"  
  
Chichiri blinked innocently. "Is there something going on na no da?"  
  
The redhead's scowl deepened. "Don't @#$(*& play dumb, Chichiri. You know somethin's been buggin' me since we left the house...or why the hell else wouldya stop like this, huh?"  
  
The older man shrugged. "Good question no da..." He paused, studied the other man in the soft, warming light of the morning sunshine. When he spoke, his voice was low and serious. "Tasuki. You know there's been something going on lately with Nuriko no da."  
  
Tasuki nodded.  
  
"Hotohori-sama is going to have a talk with him today...but, I wondered if you had any idea what was bothering him no da? I wouldn't ask...but, you two have always been close. Did he tell you anything no da?"  
  
Tasuki shifted in his seat a bit uncomfortably, spent a moment tugging absently at the zipper of his duffel bag. At last, he sighed. "I don't @#($*&$ know what's up with him, Chichiri. Wish I @!#(*&@#$ did. It's startin' to get creepy. I mean, okay...last night, I woke up, middle o'the night, like I do sometimes, and I went out to the kitchen to get a glass o'water...and, Nuriko, man...I mean, he was sittin' there at the kitchen table, sleepin' with his head on his arm." The young man's voice dropped, and his eyes were wide and frenzied. "But, when I tapped him on the shoulder to wake 'im up, ya know, to send him to bed...he @#(*@#&$# screamed! It wasn't no loud scream or nothin'...I mean, he didn't wake anybody up. But, he @#$(*@#$ screamed, Chichiri!"  
  
The blue-haired man frowned. "Did he seem frightened na no da?"  
  
Tasuki nodded fervently. "He sure as hell did! Took me almost five whole minutes to calm 'im down enough to make 'im realize that I was me and not some monster come up from hell to suck out his brain! It was @(#*$&@$ weird, man...@(#*&$ weird."  
  
"I wonder what it is," Chichiri said quietly, gazing up at the sun-flecked green of the skyline, a slight frown furrowing in the center of his smooth brow. Abruptly realizing something, he turned, raised a questioning eyebrow at his friend. "What was bothering YOU then, na no da?"  
  
"What the hell do ya think!? Nuriko's drivin' me @(#*$&@$# crazy! What the @(#*$&$'s wrong with him!? I mean, damn @#$* @#($*&@#($*&@#(*$&@(#*$&@(*#$&(@*#$&@(*#$&@(*#$&@--!"  
  
Eyes widening as he noticed a group of passing pedestrians running in the opposite direction rather quickly, Chichiri reached out a hand, clapped it against Tasuki's shoulder. "Anou...that's enough no da," he suggested, frowning apologetically at the fleeing pedestrians. When Tasuki at last seemed to come to the end of his string of obscenities, Chichiri let the hand drop from the younger man's shoulder, turned so he faced forward in the car. A glance at the dashboard clock told him what Tasuki had already mentioned earlier--they were both going to be late.  
  
Sighing softly, the blue-haired professor twisted the key in the ignition, turned and rejoined the morning traffic. They'd been driving for a few moments in silence before he turned back to the redheaded mechanic, offered him a slight, hopeful smile. "Hotohori-sama will talk with him no da," he offered quietly. "You know Nuriko will listen to him of all people."  
  
Reluctantly, Tasuki nodded...and they rode in silence for a bit longer. After awhile, though, Chichiri gradually became aware of the other man's gaze pressing against him...he turned, raised a speculative eyebrow. "Nani na no da?"  
  
Tasuki studied him for a moment longer, then looked away, shrugged. "Nuthin'. I was just wond'rin' why you an' Nuriko always call 'im 'Hotohori-sama.' Seems kinda weird...even if he is a damn @#*(&@#$ millionaire..."  
  
Chichiri smiled slightly. "He's not exactly a millionaire no da..." He shrugged, then, turned back to face the road. "It started a long time ago no da. Actually, it was Nuriko who started calling him that. I picked it up no da...because the three of us spent so much time together then."  
  
Tasuki's dark eyebrows raised. "You and Hotohori and Nuriko??"  
  
Smiling slightly at his companion's reaction, Chichiri nodded. "Hai no da. We grew up very near each other no da...and so, even though I was older, we were good friends."  
  
Tasuki shifted a bit impatiently. "So, uh...anyway...the nickname?"  
  
"Oh...hai. I don't remember exactly when Nuriko started using it no da...he was using it even before I became friends with them. But, from what I understand...Hotohori-sama had a way of acting like royalty when he was in the presence of others no da. Especially women no da. And, so, when Nuriko and Hotohori first met...Hotohori-sama thought Nuriko was a girl no da."  
  
Tasuki snorted. "Like we ALL @*#$(&$ did..."  
  
Chichiri smiled. "Hai. From what I've been told no da...he was always very chivalrous towards women then."  
  
"Still @#(*&@$ is," Tasuki muttered.  
  
"And, since he thought Nuriko was a girl no da...he was chivalrous to him, as well. Nuriko found it rather amusing I think...and, said he felt like he was being greeted by a king or prince when Hotohori said hello no da." A slight smile twitched at his lips. "We've all seen him do that before no da...when he says, 'Pleased to meet you,' and then reaches forward and kisses the girl's hand no da..."  
  
The fiery-haired bandit scowled. "It's @#$(*@& disgusting, if ya ask me..."  
  
"Anyway no da...sometime after that, Nuriko started calling him 'Hotohori-sama,' and he has ever since. And, I do it because..." He trailed off for a moment, frowned, then shrugged. "It sounds RIGHT na no da...somehow." He shook his head, smiled slightly. "Anyway no da. Now you know."  
  
---  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: More to come soon...fanfiction.net was being odd and not posting this anywhere for a long time...even though I uploaded it last night... *sweatdrop* So, let's hope that time will let this poor ficcie see the light of New Stories and New Chapters...anyway. :) Expect more from this fic soon in the future--it's hideously fun to write. :) So...er...feel free to leave a review...even if it's a bad one telling me I have bad hair and smell bad...b'cause, how else am I going to know these things if you don't tell me?? *cries* 


	3. Beachside - 3

"Beachside" - continued from Part II  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
  
Thud, thud, thud.  
  
"Oi! Miaka!"  
  
Thud-thud-thud, thud-thud-thud.  
  
"Miaaaaaaaaka! Oi, get up! Time to go!"  
  
Bleary-eyed and only half awake, Miaka stumbled from her bed, somehow managed to stagger to the door and tug it open. "Tamahome," she mumbled...but, it came out sounding more like, "Hama-ome..."  
  
The teal-haired college student frowned. "Miaka?" Abruptly realizing just what she'd been doing, he pressed his hands irritably on his hips, scowled down at the brown-haired girl. "Miaka! You were sleeping, weren't you?"  
  
Miaka shook her head sleepily, stumbling towards the kitchen with her arms stretched out before her. "Must...food...find food," she mumbled.  
  
Tamahome followed, frowning slightly as the girl staggered into the kitchen, thudded along the edge of the counter, and somehow managed to drag the Frosted Cheerios from the cupboard without opening her eyes. Chiriko, who had been sitting quietly at the table munching on a piece of buttered toast and glancing over what appeared to be an Advanced Physics book, looked up as the two entered.   
  
"Ohayoo gosaimasu, Miaka-san...Tamahome-san," he greeted cheerily. He paused, then, frowned slightly as the zombie-like girl attempted to pour the Cheerios into a bowl...and instead managed to pour them into the drain of the sink. "Tamahome-san," he began a bit nervously, "is Miaka-san all right?"  
  
Tamahome nodded dully, casting Miaka a brief scowl. "Hai, Chiriko...she's all right." He stopped, glanced briefly around the kitchen. "Did Nuriko make coffee?"  
  
The young high schooler shook his head. "Iie. Nuriko-san left early this morning, along with Hotohori-san."  
  
This seemed to snap Miaka somewhat out of her daze, and she turned, a dry coating of Cheerios clinging stubbornly to the edges of her bottom lip. "Nani?" she asked, eyes suddenly widening to something near their normal size. "Nuriko and Hotohori both left?"  
  
Chiriko nodded, still looking a bit uneasy...particularly as one of the Cheerios abruptly came unstuck from the girl's lip, tumbled dangerously near to his hand... "Uh...hai, Miaka-san."  
  
Tamahome frowned. "Did they say where they were going?"  
  
"No...but, it seemed as if Nuriko-san had some sort of appointment...and, Hotohori-san was just going along."  
  
"Appointment?" Tamahome frowned, exchanging brief glances with a still-bleary-eyed Miaka. He let out an exasperated sigh, reached forward to brush the last of the Cheerio's from the girl's lips. "Miaka, can't you eat more neatly?"  
  
Miaka, however, didn't seem to be listening. "I wonder where they went," she mused quietly, gazing blankly at the wall as she thought. A moment later, she shook her head, turned back to the counter...and frowned.   
  
"Nani, Tamahome?" she exclaimed angrily. "Who dumped all the Cheerios down the sink?"  
  
Tamahome sighed and sank into one of the hard-backed kitchen chairs, wondering--and not for the first time--why he couldn't just have a NORMAL girlfriend...  
  
---  
  
They rode in silence.  
  
The radio was switched off, and neither had said a word since they pulled out of the parking lot ten minutes earlier, making the soft whoosh of passing air and landmarks the only sound to offer any kind of distraction...and whooshes, unfortunately, weren't much in the way of entertainment. A bit warily--and not for the first time--Hotohori glanced at the violet-haired man in the passenger's seat, studied his profile against the passing blur of the scenery. The last few times, he'd watched Nuriko for awhile, hoping the slightly-older man would say something, let him know just what was going on...but, Nuriko never said a word, and didn't even seem to notice that he was being watched.  
  
//He must have a hell of a lot on his mind.\\  
  
Finally, the silence started to get to him, and he let out a soft sigh, glanced at Nuriko before returning his gaze to the road. "Nuriko," he began.  
  
"Please," Nuriko said, very quietly. "Please, Hotohori-sama...don't say anything."  
  
The taller man sighed, returning his attention to the shifting road, the echoes of their earlier conversation still ringing in his ears...  
  
  
  
[After what seemed like an eternity, the hot rush of the shower water flicked off, was replaced by the sound of wet, bare feet slapping lightly against the bathroom tiles, and the vague rustling of a towel being pressed against wet, sopping hair, the splatter of excess water hitting the floor... And then, finally, the lock to the bathroom clicked open...and, Nuriko emerged, a thick white towel wrapped tightly around his slim waist, his long violet hair hanging in loose, wet waves about his face and shoulders. Hotohori started for a moment, taken aback by the strange, uncertain paradox...the soft, feminine beauty of Nuriko's face and hair...the smooth, flat area of his chest...it was visually very confusing...and, more than a little disconcerting.  
  
Nuriko stepped out into the hallway...and came to a sudden halt at the sight of the taller man, violet eyes going suddenly wide. "H...Hotohori-sama," he managed. Abruptly, he glanced down at himself, flushed a bright shade of crimson. "Uhh...gomen ne...I didn't know you were out here."  
  
Hotohori sighed softly. "I was waiting for you, actually. I wanted to ask you..." He paused, trailed off and spent a long moment trying to figure out just how to phrase what he needed to say...then, finally sighed again, spoke whatever came to mind. "I wanted to ask you what was bothering you," he concluded quietly. "It's obviously something terrible, to--" He broke off, startled, as Nuriko abruptly pushed past him, strode almost angrily to his room.  
  
"Nuriko?" he called after the retreating writer.  
  
"I don't wanna talk about it," the other replied shortly.  
  
"But, Nuriko--"  
  
SLAM.   
  
Hotohori sighed, leaning his back lightly against the wall. What was going on?? Nuriko was acting so completely out of character...he was moody, easily angered, spent most of the day sulking or sleeping...where was the cheerful, laughing, smiling Nuriko? The Nuriko who woke up before everyone else, had a meal on the table and coffee brewing in the corner...the Nuriko who laughed at the soap operas...the Nuriko who got that thin furrow in his brow as he typed up his latest writings...  
  
Where was he?]  
  
  
  
"Hotohori-sama."  
  
He snapped from his thoughts, turned with wide, questioning eyes to Nuriko...and found him pointing to a sign just off the highway, his slim finger trembling just slightly against the window. "That way," he said. "You almost missed the turn-off."  
  
"Oh." He turned the wheel, took them down a small, bumpy back road. "Gomen, Nuriko." He paused, debating...then sighed. "Demo...it might help me more if you told me just where we're going."  
  
Nuriko was silent for a long moment. Then, finally, he let out his own soft sigh, hung his head slightly and pressed his forehead against the window. "We're going to a clinic, a little off the highway."  
  
Hotohori frowned. "A clinic? What kind of clinic?"  
  
Again, the long stretch of silence...again, the soft sigh. "It's an abortion clinic," Nuriko murmured.  
  
--- 


	4. Beachside - 4

"Beachside" - continued from Part III  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
Hotohori swerved off the road.  
  
Nuriko, having been expecting such a reaction, had already braced himself, and thus narrowly managed to avoid smashing his head against the window.  
  
The car screeched to a halt on the side of the road. "N...NANI!?!" Hotohori gasped, turning to face him with wide, shocked eyes. "Did...did you say... Wh...why...and...uhhh...N...h...I...I don't...whuh?"   
  
Nuriko offered a thin smile. "No need to be so eloquent," he murmured dryly. Once the words had left his lips, however, he sighed again, let his head droop low. "Hotohori-sama...the appointment's at ten, and it's almost a quarter 'til..."  
  
Hotohori didn't move, however, merely sat there in his seat, gasping and choking on his words until finally, finally, he managed to sputter out something vaguely resembling speech. "But...but, Nuriko...you can't have an abortion...you're a guy!" He broke off, eyes narrowingis suspiciously. "A...aren't you?"  
  
Nuriko glanced over at him, looking vaguely surprised...and, then, abruptly, burst into laughter. He bent weakly at the waist, clutching at his stomach and laughing so loudly and so hilariously that a few passersby took one glance at him and skittered nervously away. Hotohori himself was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable...when, at last, Nuriko seemed to come back under control, sat up in his seat and let out a long, heavy sigh of laughter. "Ohhhhhh, Hotohori-sama," he breathed, still grinning slightly from the effects of the laughing. "Hotohori-sama, *I* don't need the abortion! Good God, you thought...you thought I--!" He broke off, again plunged into a fit of giggles. It was several minutes before he managed to gain control of himself again.  
  
By that time, Hotohori felt adequately embarrassed...but, at least Nuriko's mood seemed to be brighter... As the violet-haired writer finally stopped laughing, however, Hotohori turned to him, frowned deeply. "But, Nuriko...if it's not for you...then, who IS it for?"  
  
Abruptly, the smile melted from Nuriko's face. He sighed, leaned back in the seat and let the back of his head touch against the headrest. "I'll...I'll explain it all to you once we get there, Hotohori-sama." He lifted his head a bit, gazed down at the dashboard clock. "But, please...I need to get there on time. It's very important."  
  
Insanely curious but sensing the real urgency in Nuriko's voice, Hotohori glanced briefly over his left shoulder, slipped the car into drive, and swung them back out onto the road. Eight minutes passed before Nuriko lifted that slim finger again, pointed to a small, clean-looking white building. Hotohori glanced at it a bit suspiciously, taking in the smooth, clean white walls, the few bushes and flower beds around the sidewalk, the simple wooden door...and, the sign, stuck into the ground with a thin rod of metal, onto which the ominous words of "The Clinic" had been etched. Inadvertently, he shivered.  
  
Nuriko, too, looked decidedly uncomfortable as they slid into a parking space near the front, came to a slow halt.   
  
"Well," said Hotohori slowly, glancing a bit warily at his companion. "We're here, Nuriko..."  
  
Nuriko nodded silently, staring at the squat building with something very akin to fear shivering in his eyes. At last, he drew in a long, deep breath, reached a trembling hand to the car door, and pushed it open.   
  
Hotohori frowned. "Nuriko?"  
  
The other man turned, gazed down at him from where he stood beside the car. "Hm?"  
  
He was silent for a long moment, considering...then, abruptly, pulled the key from the ignition, jammed it into his jeans pocket, and pushed open his own door.   
  
"Hotohori-sama...you don't have to come in with me." Those dark violet eyes drifted towards the ground for a moment, then rose again, latched onto his face. "Please. It's going to be...uncomfortable enough without having anyone else there."  
  
Hotohori's lips bent slightly downward, and he turned, closed the car door and leaned against it, folded his arms on the roof of the car. "I'm coming in with you," he said firmly. "I don't know what's going on...but, I know that whatever's happening, you shouldn't go through it alone. But, Nuriko...please, at least tell me who's having an abortion." He sighed softly. "You owe me at least that much, don't you?"  
  
Nuriko suddenly looked very uncomfortable, turning and leaning his back against the side of the car. His eyes scanned the far-off grey and mottled-blue of the horizon, and his slim hands moved almost of their own volition into the shallow pockets of his jeans. Finally, he sighed. "She's not...having an abortion today. Not...not yet."  
  
"Who?"  
  
Nuriko turned, then, stared at him with those wide, glittering violet eyes. His lips were pressed into a thin, tight line, his jaw clenched as if gritting his teeth against some kind of pain... "My sister," he said quietly. "Kourin."  
  
---  
  
Chiriko smiled cheerily. "Ohayoo, Mitsukake-san."  
  
"Coffee," the broad-shouldered man mumbled.  
  
Miaka glanced up from her bagel, raised a hand to greet the physician. "Ohayoo, Mitsukake!" she intoned cheerfully. "Ne, why're you getting up so late? Don't you have to get to work?"  
  
"Coffee," Mitsukake mumbled.  
  
Moving with zombie-like grace, the dark-haired man thudded the rest of the way into the kitchen, took Miaka's own route of clinging to the counter as he moved...then, finally, he reached the salvation of the coffeemaker, smiled and reached for his mug.   
  
Miaka and Chiriko exchanged glances a bit nervously.   
  
"Uhh...Mitsukake-san," the younger began hesitantly. "Mitsukake-san...Nuriko...uh... Nuriko-san didn't make any coffee today."  
  
A thick and heavy silence descended upon the kitchen.   
  
Miaka and Chiriko sat fearfully at the table, respective breakfast items hanging loosely from their fingers, eyes wide and frightened. A low, growling rumble began to echo through the room, and the mug clutched in that thick-fingered hand began to shake, just slightly. The rumble was growing steadily, stretching into a beastlike growl...then, finally, it came to an enraged zenith, and Mitsukake turned around, the bleary fire of too little sleep and not enough caffeine blaring in his eyes...  
  
"No...coffee?" he asked in a low, trembling voice. His eyes flashed, and he raised his arms, smashed his fists down onto the table. "No...COFFEE?!"  
  
Miaka jumped up from the table. "Anou...I need to get to class...!"  
  
Shaking and wide-eyed, Chiriko nodded hurriedly, scurried out of his seat. "I-I'll come with you, Miaka-san...!"  
  
The two ran from the room, stomped through the adjoining living room, and a moment later, there came the sound of the front door slamming shut. Skittering footsteps echoed down the hallway, faded...and then, there was silence once more.  
  
Mitsukake smirked briefly, turned, and calmly switched on the coffeemaker. A moment later, he was stretched out comfortably on one of the kitchen's eight wooden chairs, his bare feet propped up on the edge of the table, the newspaper clasped lightly between his fingers.  
  
"Sometimes it's too easy," he murmured softly. Then, he leaned back, inhaled a long, deep breath of the brewing coffee, and enjoyed the peace of a nice, silent, empty kitchen.  
  
---  



	5. Beachside - 5

"Beachside" - continued from Part IV  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
  
Nuriko turned, leaned forward so his elbows rested against the hood of the car. His gaze was cast downward, soft tufts of violet hair dangling before his eyes, wavering gently in the morning wind. "Ever since we were children...Kourin and I have been very close," he began quietly, fingers tangling nervously together in front of him. "And, then...when I was ten or so...we started to drift apart. We were still pretty close...but, Hotohori-sama..." He trailed off, shook his head slightly. "It was never like it was those first few years. Back then, when we were still very young...it was like...like every single moment we were together was precious...do you know what I mean? Like...like, if we didn't spend as much time together as we possibly could...that we would lose something, somehow...something that we would never be able to get back..."   
  
Nuriko paused, sighing softly and glancing down at his watch. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I'm babbling." Those soft violet eyes lifted, stared into the other man's eyes with a swift, almost-pleading intensity. "What I'm trying to say is...Hotohori-sama...even if we're not as close as we were then..." His voice dropped. "I still cherish Kourin...and, I know that this is a mistake...that this is something she MUST NOT do. So, I've got to stop her. That's why I'm here today--because this is her last appointment before they..." He trailed off, closed his eyes. "Before they do it," he finished in a whisper.  
  
Hotohori spent a long moment studying the smaller man in the warm glow of the morning sun, noticing the thin lines of pain obscuring his pale features, the way his fingers clenched anxiously together, the anguished slant of his eyebrows...it was almost as if he was in geniune, actual pain. Feeling a sudden burst of empathy, Hotohori circled the car, rested a hand gently on Nuriko's shoulder. The older man tensed slightly at his touch...then, recognized it for the comfort that it was, sighed softly and leaned his forehead against the window of the car.   
  
"There's...something else, too," he murmured. His voice was almost painfully soft, muffled through the closeness of the window and the nearness of his sleeve. "Something...that makes it worse."  
  
Inexplicably, Hotohori felt his stomach clench, and something dark and ominous slip into his mind. This was nothing good... "What...what is it?" he asked softly.  
  
---  
  
Coffee...a silent house...and a Get Smart marathon on TV Land. Mitsukake let out a soft sigh of pure bliss, leaning his head back against the luxurious couch cushions and smiling as that familiar, tinkling theme song began again, launched Maxwell Smart through a variety of intriguing doors and telephone booths...ahhh. Tilting his head forward just long enough to take a small sip of his third cup of coffee that morning, the young pediatrician stretched his legs out among the pillows, thanking God--and not for the first time--that Hotohori had decided to dip into his ample funds to furnish the rooms the eight of them shared. It certainly made for better TV viewing...velvet cushions, fluffy, silken pillows, enough room for even someone of his height to stretch out comfortably...  
  
"That's right," came the tinny voice of the TV. "We'll have to use the Cone of Silence..."  
  
Mitsukake smiled, took another steaming sip, then let the mug rest on the coffee table. "I love days off," he whispered. Then, he lay back, tugged a warm blanket over himself, and settled into the cushions.  
  
---  
  
"Chichiri!" came an irritated-sounding voice from the adjoining room. "Chichiri, there's no @#*(&# soap!!"  
  
Already hopelessly late for his first class, the blue-haired professor rested his briefcase on the edge of the desk, took a few steps so he was closer to the door to his private bathroom. "Of course there's no soap no da," he replied simply. "I told you that before no da."  
  
He could practically see Tasuki's scowl. "Oi, go find me some! I can't take a @#$(*@#*&$ shower without any @(*#&% soap!"  
  
Chichiri brought a finger to his lips, chewed a bit nervously on the end of his fingernail. "Anou...Tasuki, keep your voice down, please...you're echoing no da..."  
  
"I DON'T @#(*$&$ CARE IF I'M ECHOING! FIND ME SOME @#$(*&$ SOAP SO I CAN GET TO @(*#&@$ WORK!"  
  
The older man debated for a long moment, absently twisting the uncomfortable length of his tie in his fingers. Finally, he drew a deep breath, walked back to his desk, and lifted the phone gently from the receiver. He dialed, pressed the receiver to his ear, waited.  
  
Tasuki's voice rose again over the din of the rushing water. "Chichiri?"  
  
"Just a minute no da."  
  
Ring-ring. Ring-ring. Ring-ri-- There was the sound of crackling static, followed almost immediately by the unmistakable click of the receiver being drawn from its stand. "Eiken's Garage," came a dull, irritated male voice. "Eiken speaking."  
  
Chichiri drew a deep breath, forced himself to focus on every-single-word slipping from his lips. "Hello," he began slowly. "I have an urgent message for you from someone who works for you."  
  
He could practically hear the growl. "Is it that lazy piece of @#*(&@$ Tasuki??" he demanded suddenly. "LATE! AGAIN! Is it him??"  
  
Chichiri winced...then, cleared his throat, again spoke in the slow, clear, low voice. "Yes, Mr. Eiken, sir. I'm afraid Tasuki won't be coming into work today no d--" He broke off, cleared his throat again. "He won't be coming into work today."  
  
"Why the @#(*&@$ @#$(*@&#$(*@&#$ NOT?!?!"  
  
The blue-haired professor glanced towards the bathroom, pressed a hand against his forehead. "I'm afraid he's terribly sick no da," he concluded, slipping in his speech but finding himself beyond the point of caring. "Mitsukake is having a look at him, but I'm afraid he won't be in today...possibly not tomorrow either no da."  
  
"CHICHIRI! SOAAAAAP!"  
  
Eiken's eyes seemed to narrow. "What was that?" he asked quickly. "Was that him??"  
  
Chichiri let out a soft sigh. "Hai, no da. He's delirious, as you can hear. Keeps calling for soap na no da..."   
  
"Oh, all right, all right," Eiken muttered, sounding considerably less than pleased. "If he's that sick...then, I guess I can't expect him to come into work." His tone hardened then, grew so loud Chichiri had to lift the receiver away from his ear to avoid brain hemorrhage. "But, @#*($&@#$*, I'LL DOCK HIM A WEEK'S PAY FOR THIS IF HE'S NOT IN ON TIME TOMORROW! I CAN'T @(#*&@$# AFFORD TO HAVE HALF OF MY WORKERS @(*#$@$& CUTTING WORK TO WATCH @(#*$&@$ MARATHONS ON @*$&@#$ CABLE TV!"  
  
Shaking his head slightly to clear the ringing from his ears, Chichiri returned the phone to his ear, nodded slightly. "Hai. Goodbye, sir."  
  
"Yeah, bye..."  
  
Chichiri reached down a finger, pressed it lightly against the slender white button on the top of the base. He waited a moment, humming softly to himself as he waited...then, lifted his finger, raised the phone to his ear, and dialed. A moment later, he heard the echo of a ring a few offices down, smiled slightly.   
  
"Hello, Dean Jacobs' office."  
  
"This is Professor Chichiri no da. I'm afraid I'm *cough* coming down with something no *cough* da...and, so *cough hack* I'm going to have to call in *coughcoughgaaaaaspcough* sick today."  
  
The woman's voice sailed into the higher octaves. "Ohhhhhhh, Mr. Chichiri, I'm so sorry! You sound AWFUL! I'll tell the dean right away! And, don't you worry about a thing, either! You focus on getting better! I'll personally make sure your classes are alerted."  
  
"Arrigato no da."  
  
He had just pressed the phone back down onto its receiver, smiling slightly to himself when, abruptly, the bathroom door swung open, slammed hard into the wall. "Oi, Chichiri!" Tasuki exclaimed. He stood framed in the doorway, dripping wet and clad in not much more than a thick white towel about his waist, muscled arms folded irritably over his chest. "Chichiri!" he repeated angrily. "Where the @#$*()&#$'s my soap!?"  
  
Chichiri frowned slightly. "You're dripping on the carpet no da..."   
  
"I don't @#(*&@$ care if I'm drippin' on the carpet, damn it--Eiken's gonna @#(*&$ kill me..."  
  
"Don't worry about him no da. Come on. Get dressed no da. We're going back to the house."  
  
Tasuki stared at him for a few seconds, looking vaguely confused. Finally, however, he shrugged, threw his arms up into the air, and marched back into the bathroom to get dressed.   
  
---  
  
The front door slammed open.   
  
"A @#(*$&@$ week's pay??" came a loud, achingly-familiar voice from the adjoining room. "He @#(*$@$ said that?! That @(#$*@$!!!! That @#(*$&@#(*$&@#(*$&@(#*$&@#(*$&@#(*$&@!"  
  
Mitsukake let out a low groan, leaned his head back against the cushions and pressed his hand tightly against his forehead. "No," he pleaded quietly, squeezing his eyes shut and wondering if perhaps it was all just some terrible dream. "No...no...please?"  
  
"You're overreacting no da," replied a second voice. "Besides na no da...at least now you can have your soap..."  
  
"BATHROOMS SHOULD @#*$(&@$ HAVE SOAP! It's not RIGHT when they don't!"  
  
Mitsukake leaned forward, placed his face in his hands, and let out a low, mournful wail. "No, no, no, no," he murmured. "No, no, no..."  
  
"Chief," chirped the TV. "Are you sure about this? I think I should bring Agent 99 with me."  
  
A shadow fell over the couch. "Oi, Mitsukake! What the @(*#$& are you doin' here? And, hey, where're Nuriko and Hotohori?"  
  
Something dripped onto his face...but, he barely noticed. "My only day off," he mourned quietly. "My only day off..."  
  
"Oi, Chichiri...what the @(#*$&$'s wrong with Mitsukake?"  
  
A choked sob sprang from his throat. "My only @(#*&@$ day off...!"  
  
Chichiri, standing framed in the doorway, felt his eyes widen, stretched forward a hand to tap Tasuki on the shoulder. "Anou no da...I think maybe we should leave him alone..."  
  
Tasuki was shaking his head, eyes wide and stunned. "B-B-B-but...but, he said--"  
  
"Come on na no da. I think Nuriko has some scented soaps in the bathroom no da..."  
  
"Uhh...yeah...uh..." The young mechanic reached forward, gave the older man's broad shoulder a brief, comforting pat. "Feel, uh...feel better, Mitsukake."  
  
"Missed me...by THAT much," claimed the TV.  
  
Mitsukake let out another long sigh, then rose to his feet, stretched forward, and switched off the TV. "Maybe I'll go into work," he murmured dully. The broad-shouldered man glanced down at his soft blue bathrobe, the fluffy, matching-blue slippers adorning his feet...and smiled slightly. "Then again...maybe not."  
  
Mitsukake turned and left to make himself another cup of coffee.  
  
---  



	6. Beachside - 6

"Beachside" - continued from Part V  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
  
Nuriko was silent for a long moment, forehead pressing lightly against the cool glass of the window, slim fingers clinging to the roof of the car. Hotohori's hand was warm and strong on his shoulder, granting him the strength he couldn't seem to find on his own.  
  
"What is it?" Hotohori repeated softly.  
  
He would just...say it. What else could he do? Hotohori was here with him, trying to help him, trying to be strong for him...he owed him at least an explanation, didn't he? Even if...even if it hurt.  
  
Nuriko raised his head from the window, carefully lifted the younger man's fingers from his shoulder, and turned. A moment later, he stood straight-backed and strong, staring up into those soft amber eyes as if in challenge. "There's not much time," he said quietly, glancing briefly at the nearby building, "but...I'll try to explain." Steeling himself mentally and emotionally as best he could, Nuriko leaned his back against the cool metal of the car door, folded slim arms over his chest, and let out a soft breath. "My mother was only seventeen years old when Rokou was born. She and my father were...poor. He was trying to write a book and she had her hands full with taking care of Rokou...so, there wasn't much room in their lives for anything else." His eyes closed. "Particularly not another child. Two years later, when my mother got pregnant with me..." He paused, eyes still closed, and shook his head slightly. "She and my father had already agreed that...if another baby were to come along...they couldn't keep it. There wasn't enough money to support another child...and so...she..."  
  
Hotohori felt a shiver run through his body, folded his arms over his chest to mask the discomfort. "Oh, Nuriko," he whispered. His eyes were wide, his lips slightly parted as if to say something...anything...to make it better. "Nuriko...your mother..."  
  
Nuriko nodded, very slightly. "Hai...Hotohori-sama. She was going to...abort me. She very nearly did, in fact...but, on the day that she was going to...just before..." He trailed off, shook his head in wonderment. "Just before she was going to, my father got word that his book had been sold for a lot of money--they wanted sequels, movie deals, everything. And, so, suddenly there was enough money for another child." His voice sank. "She was actually in the waiting room, just a few minutes away from...from doing it when the call came."  
  
Hotohori closed his eyes, shook his head in horror. "My God," he whispered. "I can see...why this would affect you so much, then. Does Korin know?"  
  
The older man opened his eyes, shifted his stance slightly. "What...that I was nearly aborted?"  
  
Hotohori nodded.  
  
"Iie." He smiled slightly, mirthlessly. "None of us were supposed to know...for obvious reasons, I suppose. Demo...I found out anyway." The violet-haired writer shook his head, stood taller, stronger. "Anyway," he said in a firmer voice, "I've got to stop Korin before she makes the same mistake our mother nearly did. If I don't..." His voice hardened. "If I don't, then, I fail as a brother...and I fail as a man." This said, Nuriko turned, drew a deep breath, and trekked the last few feet to the sidewalk, began to walk strongly towards the door.   
  
Hotohori could only stand there, arms still folded lightly over his chest, and watch as his longtime friend strode boldly into the den of his worst fears, not a tremble in his legs or a hesitation in his step. The younger man smiled slightly, lowered his head and closed his eyes. "You're strong, Nuriko," he murmured. "Stronger than all of us, I think."  
  
Then, shaking his head slightly, Hotohori stepped up onto the sidewalk and followed Nuriko into the clinic.   
  
---  
  
The door slammed open...again. Mitsukake let out a low groan and lay back among the couch cushions, pressing a heavy hand against his forehead as he struggled to drown out the shrill voice already rising from the front room.  
  
"Ohayooooo!" echoed Miaka's voice from the entryway. "We're baaaack!"  
  
Tamahome let out a heavy sigh. "Miaka..."  
  
The brown-haired girl turned to him with wide eyes, blinked. "Hmm? Nani?" Before Tamahome could answer her, however, the girl had stepped forward, moved into the living room. "Mitsukake? Ne...are you alive?"  
  
Mitsukake sighed. "No."  
  
"Ah, Miaka--Tamahome. Why're you back so early no da?"  
  
Miaka turned, rejoined Tamahome in the other room. "Chichiri!" she exclaimed. "Doushita? Are you sick?"  
  
Still clad in his slightly-moist dress shirt and loose-hanging tie, Chichiri pressed a slim finger to his chin, smiled. "Sick no da? Iie..."  
  
"OI, CHICHIRI! I AIN'T USIN' NO @#(*$&@#$ LILAC SCENTED SOAP!"  
  
Miaka clapped her hands together. "Ahhh, Tasuki, too?"   
  
"GET ME SOME @(#$*&$ DIAL OR SOMETHING'! CHICHIRIIII!"  
  
"Ano...JUST A MINUTE NO DA!"  
  
The blue-haired professor turned back to the two newcomers, offered a slight smile. "Tasuki and I are skipping work no da," he admitted, a trace of guilty amusement slipping into his tone. "Normally I wouldn't do something like this no da..." His smile lifted. "But, it's nice to have a vacation every once in awhile no da."  
  
Miaka smiled widely, began hopping slightly up and down. "Ne, Tamahome!" she exclaimed, latching onto the older man's arm and pressing her cheek against it. "We should skip out on the rest of our classes! YATTA! Hai! And, then when Hotohori and Nuriko come back, we can all do something--maybe even go out and get something to eat! WAAI! WAAAI!"  
  
Chichiri frowned slightly, but it was a speculative frown, a thougthful frown. "Hotohori-sama went somewhere with Nuriko no da?"  
  
Calming rather abruptly from her recent food-spurned hysterics, Miaka nodded, pressed a finger to her lips. "Mm-hm," she responded. "Chiriko said they went for an appointment or something...ne, Tamahome, isn't that what he said?"  
  
Glancing briefly at the girl still clinging to his arm, Tamahome nodded, let out a soft, "Hai." He paused then, cast a brief glance around the cluttered entry room. "I hope whatever this appointment is gets Nuriko back to his old self, though...this room's a mess...and, we haven't had a good, hot meal in days..."  
  
Miaka gazed darkly at her...uh...beloved. "Nani, Tamahome?" she asked in a low, irritated voice. "Nuriko shouldn't be the only one who cooks and cleans...you could help out, too."  
  
Tamahome harrumphed. "So could you, Miaka."   
  
Chichiri let out a short gasp. "Iie, Tamahome no daaaaa!"  
  
But, it was too late. A flash of inspired light flickered into Miaka's eyes, and she stood straight up, raised both arms above her head and began to jump around. "Hai! Hai!" she exclaimed, rushing forward to wrap her arms around Tamahome in what could only be described as childish glee. "Ne, I'll make dinner tonight!! WAAAI! WAAAAAAI!" She paused for a moment, seeming to think...then, leaped away from Tamahome, went sprinting into the kitchen. "I know just what to have!" she called over her shoulder...and, then there was the crashing of pots and pans and cupboard doors, along with the muffled, high-pitched squeals of Miaka's humming...  
  
Tamahome let his head droop downward, pressed an anguished hand against his forehead. "Aaaaah," he mourned softly, "what have I donnnnnne?"  
  
Chichiri sighed softly, moved to one of the nearby chairs--a soft, thick-cushioned white armchair--and sank weakly into it. "You may be responsible for all our deaths no da," he offered with a hint of a smile. "Demo no da...at least we have Mitsukake."  
  
Tamahome, standing very near the door to the living room, took a small step backwards, peered into the room. His eyebrows raised. "Uhh...Chichiri?"  
  
"Hai no da?"  
  
Tamahome's eyebrow raised a bit further. "Should Mitsukake's foot be twitching like that while he's asleep?"  
  
The blue-haired professor rose to his feet, moved to the doorway and peered through. Noticing a mug lying nearby, the interior of it stained and soiled with a rich, moist brown, Chichiri smiled slightly, nodded in understanding. "Caffeine overdose no da," he explained. He smiled. "Don't worry no da. I'm sure when he wakes up he'll stop twitching..." His voice darkened. "At least until he tastes dinner no da."  
  
Tamahome let out a heavy, anguished sigh-sob, sank into the piano chair and let his head thud down onto the polished wood. "Nuriko," he sobbed. "Come back soon...onegaaaaai..."  
  
Chichiri moved silently to his friend's side, patted the younger man gently on the shoulder. The only sounds were Miaka's chirping hums, the crash of pots, Tasuki's labored screeches of song against the hiss of the shower water, and Mitsukake's heavy, droning snores.   
  
Chichiri smiled slightly. "We're an American family no da," he murmured.  
  
--- 


	7. Beachside - 7

**Author's Note:**  *gasp*  *choke*  *sputter*  Whaaaaaaa??? A new chapter to BEACHSIDE??!  Well, gee golly, Ryuen, it's only been, like, a yeaaaaaaaaaar!  

...ehehe.  Well, ah...yes.  Sorry. ^_~.  Buuuuuuut, I was reading over it this morning, and I'd forgotten how much I really enjoyed writing this story.  So, here's another chapter! ^_^;  Unfortunately, as I'm on a tight schedule this morning (gotta go pick up some train tickets ^_~.), this chapter won't include the usual mix of characters that most of the other ones do, but never fear!  They'll definitely be included in the next chapter.  Until then, adieu!  Arrigato for reading!  Don't stone me for making you wait so long between chapters! ^_^;;

**b   e   a   c   h   s   i   d   e   **

Chapter 7

~*~

The interior of the clinic was very little like Hotohori had found himself expecting.  After following Nuriko through a set of glass-inlaid double doors, he found himself in a small, rectangular room lined with chairs, all made of the same dark brown wood and upholstered with a velvety maroon padding.  The walls were, rather than the stereotypical Doctor's Office White, a warm shade of cream, with a three-inch tall line of seashell wallpaper running a few feet below the ceiling.    There were no flourescent lights to be spoken of, either, much to his surprise; the only illumination came from two matching table lamps, one in each corner, beneath which—on small, also-matching tables of the same dark wood as the chairs—rested a variety of magazines and pamphlets, one of which Hotohori could see had, "Abstinence:  The Best Birth Control," scrolled across the top in large block letters.

As the chairs lined the walls, there was a large empty space in the center of the floor; the twenty-one-year-old found, to his shock, that there was actually a cardboard box of _toys_ waiting there, enough of its interior visible for Hotohori to pick out a few legos, a Barbie doll dressed as a doctor, and a forlorn-looking baby-doll, its lightly-painted lips pursed upwards as if in prelude to tears.  He came to a trembling halt there, in the center of the floor, palms feeling suddenly cold.  The baby doll only stared at him, blue eyes sparkling slightly in the lamplight, one plastic thumb frozen a few centimeters away from its mouth.

It wasn't until he heard Nuriko's voice that he could break away from that silently accusing stare; when he did, he was forced to cross both arms over his chest to halt a shiver.  Finally, though, he turned and found the older man standing in front of a glass partition broken only by a circular hole into which something like a speaker had been affixed.  Nuriko was currently speaking into that hole, while the woman on the other side of the glass—pretty, with a reddish-blonde ponytail and wire-framed glasses—shook her head slightly.

"I'm sorry," Hotohori heard the woman say.  "I can't reveal any patient information."  
  


"But, she's my _sister!_" Nuriko exclaimed, gripping the ledge below the partition so tightly that his knuckles went white.  "She's my _sister_ and I have to see her!  Look, I can prove who I am—you have to let me back there!"  
  


"Please," Hotohori said, taking his place off Nuriko's left shoulder.  "He'll show you any kind of identification that you need, but it's very important that he speak with his sister."

The woman—her nametag, Hotohori could now see, named her as "Heather"—stared at him blankly for a moment, and then shifted her gaze slowly to Nuriko.  "H..._He?_" she echoed in a small voice.  She leaned close to the partition, peering out at Nuriko with narrowed, studying eyes.  At last, she leaned back and shook her head, still looking extremely uncertain.  "Look," she said at last, "I'm sorry.  We're not allowed to give out any patient information, no matter who you are.  The only people allowed past that door are pregnant women and staff.  Unless you're one of those, you can't come back here.  You'll just have to wait until your sister's operation is over, and then say whatever you need to say."  
  


Nuriko went pale.  "Sh...She isn't having an operation today," he whispered.  "She's just...she's just having an appointment with the doctor."

Shaking her head, Heather glanced over her shoulder, looking back towards where Hotohori could see another woman—older, plumper, and wearing a cow-patterned nurse's blouse—just hanging her jacket on a wall peg.  "We don't have just _appointments_," Heather said at last, returning her attention to Nuriko.  "If a girl wants to just talk to the doctor, she can do that over the phone.  If she wants her pregnancy terminated, she goes back there."  She jerked a thumb towards the door a few inches away from the glass partition.  "Now, look—my shift is over, now, so I'm going to be leaving.  If you want, you can stay in the waiting area and wait for your sister, but if not, then I suggest you leave.  All of the staff upholds the same policies here, so really no matter who you are or who you talk to, you're not going to be able to see your sister until she comes out through that door."

With that, Heather lifted herself up off her chair, smoothed briefly at her skirt, and then turned to walk towards her approaching replacement.  The two exchanged friendly words, the older woman laughing heartily at whatever the younger said, but Hotohori watched them for only a moment before looking worriedly at Nuriko.

The violet-haired man had sunk back against the wall, knees wavering and eyes locked on the far wall, his face so pale that he seemed almost to blend in with the paint behind him.  "She lied to me," he whispered at last, blinking a few times as if doing so might change the reality around him.  "She lied to me.  She said that this was just an appointment.  She said they were just going to talk about it..."

Face contorting in concern and sympathy, Hotohori moved to the smaller man's side and placed a supportive hand on his shoulder, opening his mouth to say something encouraging--

"Excuse me."  It was Heather's replacement, peering out at them through the glass.  Her voice was louder than the younger woman's, but warmer, somehow; a true tinge of concern worked at her words.  "Can I help you?" she asked gently.  Features softening even more at the sight of Nuriko, leaning against the wall and looking as if he was on the point of tears, she reached out a hand and slid the bottom half of the glass partition aside, giving her the room to poke her head out at them.  "Honey, I know you're afraid," she soothed, speaking in a voice she might've used with a child or wounded animal.  "But, believe me, the doctor won't do _anything_ to you unless you _really_ want him to.  Just going back there won't make it so you _have_ to go through with this.  The doctor'll give you at least fifteen minutes to think it over one last time before he does anything, and he won't be mad or anything if you decide you don't want to.  Now, come on, sweetie.  Just sign your name on this clipboard here, and I'll call you when the doctor can see you.  He's just started another patient on her fifteen minutes, so he should be able to see you immediately."  
  


Nuriko's gaze shifted to the woman, a look just slightly short of salvation crossing his features.  "O...Okay," he managed, lifting himself up from the wall.  A  moment later, he'd stepped up to the partition and was scrawling his name on the line, fingers trembling enough so that the string attached to the bottom of the pen twitched sporadically as he wrote.  Finally, though, he laid the pen back down on the counter and stepped back; the nurse, whose nametag identified her as "Nancy," pulled the clipboard in through the partition and looked at it for a moment, then glanced up again.

"Okay, Miss Seishuku," she said, smiling reassuredly at Nuriko, "you can come right back.  The doctor will be able to see you shortly.  Oh—"  Her gaze shifted to Hotohori.  "—and you can accompany her if she'd like.  You won't be there for the actual operation, of course, if she decides to go through with it, but you can at least be there for moral support now."  Her smile widened.  "If you'd like, of course."  
  


"Y-Yes," Hotohori managed, giving Nuriko a startled glance.  "Yes, I'd be glad to accompany h...her."

"All right," Nancy said cheerfully.  "Wait just one moment, then, and I'll come around and unlock the door for you."  

With that, she slid off her chair and vanished through a doorway; Hotohori had just enough time to turn to Nuriko and whisper, "Miss _Seishuku?_" before there came the clicking of a lock disengaging, and there was Nancy, smiling and holding the door open for them to enter.  

They did so, Nuriko walking in front while Hotohori followed closely behind, and were led to a small room only a few feet down the hall.  There were, the younger man noted, a great many doors in this hallway, but it seemed clear that the ones farther down, with much longer spaces between them, were the areas where the actual operations took place, while these smaller ones were rooms where the women waited to be operated on, or perhaps where preliminary examinations were done.  

"Just take a seat up on that table, there," Nancy instructed Nuriko as they entered, gesturing towards a paper-covered examination table against the opposite wall.  "The doctor will be with you shortly."  

As the door closed behind her, Nuriko gave a short sigh and leaned against the table, but made no move to leap onto it.  "Sorry," he said at last, giving Hotohori a slightly sheepish smile.  "Using 'Chou' might've made them wonder if I was any relation to Korin, and..."  He sighed again, shaking his head.  "I'm sorry to drag you into this, Hotohori-sama."

Glancing around the small white room, with its frightening array of doctorly instruments, posters of female organs that he did not wish to know the identities of, and wall rack filled with abortion pamphlets, the younger man couldn't help but shudder.  "It's all right," he assured Nuriko, forcing sincerity to overcome the anxiety in his voice.  He smiled slightly.  "I don't mind being dragged in for a good cause."  
  


As if reminded by the words, Nuriko suddenly straightened, jaw clenching as he stared at the closed door.  "Well, I guess this is it," he said tightly, glancing only briefly at Hotohori as he spoke.  "If she hasn't gone through with it yet, then she'll be in one of these waiting rooms.  And if she has..."  Nuriko swallowed hard, his cheeks paling.  "If she has," he managed in a quiet voice, "then it's too late, anyway.  Come on, Hotohori-sama.  Let's find Korin."

~*~


End file.
